


The Battle of Ravenhill

by orangejay



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Kili (tolkien), BAMF Legolas Greenleaf, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Legolas & Fili Friendship, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel Friendship, Thorin tries to be a good parent, Torture, Worried Thorin, because there is a serious lack of Fili whump in this fandom, but it gets worse before it gets better, hurt!Fili - Freeform, hurt!Legolas - Freeform, if that isn't a tag I'm making it one, major Fili whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangejay/pseuds/orangejay
Summary: Thorin still sends Fili and Kili to Ravenhill, but something small leads to big changes: Azog does not kill Fili right away. Instead, he utilizes the heir as a bargaining chip and offers up a deal: Thorin, in exchange for Fili. But there is still a war raging, still a general mistrust of elves among dwarves, and the five armies stand outside, teetering on the edge of disaster.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1. This one dies first but not yet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading! Is this story entirely planned and thought out and edited and impeccably written? Nope. Am I enjoying writing it anyways? Yup. I appreciate your time and input, and am mostly using this as a creative outlet during quarantine because I have little writing inspiration. Recently watching the hobbit movies brought this plot to the forefront of my mind (along with another Fili centered fic which may be uploaded at a later time) and so I wanted to get this uploaded in hopes that having it here will increase my own accountability. I have no upload schedule, but would like to see this fic through to the end primarily to fill the lack-of-Fili void across the fandom. Hope you are having a great day or night.  
> Disclaimer: If this concept has been done before, I have not read it, nor do I intend for this to be a repeat/rip off of another fic. Please contact me with any concerns.

The Battle of Ravenhill  
Chapter One

Fili trusted his gut. So, when he and Kili got to the top of the Ravenhill, he never once regretted sending Kili to search the lower levels. Even when he heard drums, and saw the onyx walls turn gold, and felt a twist in his gut at something wrong approaching. He turned and saw the same image to his left as to his right, and there was nowhere else to go. Hands tightened around his blades, his jaw clenching as the heavy footfalls of the orcs neared, and before he could fully prepare himself they were upon him.

Without hesitation Fili flung himself forward, blades flying and a cry flinging from his lips. Once, twice, three times—he saw orcs fall. He spun, arms high, breath heaving as an adrenaline rush flooded through him. There was guttural growls and screeches, and Fili’s arms strained under the blundering blows. He threw everything—absolutely everything—he had into his steps, his jabs and parries, until he saw stars as something collided with his temple. 

His exhale caught as he tried to blink his vision back. Still, despite his teeter, he turned, blade flashing as he lunged into the closest figure, ignoring the blood dripping down the side of his face. Another orc at his flank caught his arm in a fist and squeezed. _Crack_ , he knew his wrist was broken, he dropped his blade, and clenched his teeth to stop his screech. A kick to the legs followed, and his other blade clattered from his grip as he fell, all the air expelled from his lungs as he hit the stone. The orcs around him cried, began to swarm, and Fili thrashed, kicked, bucked, and wrestled every way he knew how, until a low cry of Orkish vibrated through the hall. Azog. 

Fili, who had curled into himself, slowly looked up when the orcs backed away, little by little, to make room for Azog, a towering, scarred figure who seemed to glow within the shadows. He knew enough Orkish, which was littered with Westron, to determine what was said. “Do not kill this one, do not touch this one unless I tell you. This one is mine.” 

A small, foolish part of Fili had thought, perhaps, Azog would not know who he was, and those hopes were dashed before they could even fully form. A hand grabbed at his collar, dragging him partway to his feet before stopping. Fili stiffened, glaring up at the figure before him, just as Azog lifted a heavy foot and stomped down on Fili’s knee. 

This time, Fili could not and did not surpress his scream. Azog lifted him fully, but he could hardly comprehend what was going on, being bodily thrown into two other orcs who searched him for weapons, and swiftly he lost every knife, axe, blade, he had on his person. Just as he got his breathing back under control, just as he was able to think about something other than the pounding, crippling pain in his knee every time the limb was so much as nudged, he was being dragged by Azog down the hall and into the blinding, snowy light. 

Every time his leg hit a crack or a bump in the uneven ruins, he wanted to scream in pain, but could not find his voice. He kept his right arm curled near his person,as if it would protect the likely useless wrist. All his focus was then diverted when he saw was his uncle. Thorin, across the valley, alongside Dwalin, with their Hobbit at their side. 

“Uncle,” Fili said, his voice scratchy and dry and perhaps in his head and not even voiced. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m-“

He squirmed as Azog hauled him higher. “This one dies first. Then the brother. Then you, Oakenshield.” Fili saw Thorin rush forward, and all he could do was shake his head. 

“No—no,” he would not let those he loved risk themselves and their role—Thorin’s position as king—for him. He signed the contract like everyone else, Fili knew the risks coming on this quest, had heard his uncle tell them to him over and over and over again. “Go! RUN!” _Leave me and go, leave me and re-group, leave me and find Kili and protect each other and serve our people well_.

But Azog’s next words left Fili’s thoughts reeling. “But not yet,” Fili felt cold. “At sunset tomorrow, Oakenshield, I will trade your heir for you.”

Thorin’s voice thundered over the stone, “Wait!”

Azog, who was mid-turn, lifted his blade, the weapon which extended from his mangled arm, until it sliced through Fili’s jaw and lowered to his neck and Fili scrunched his eyes shut, pushing against the arm with everything he had as if it would keep him from the halls of his forefathers a few moments longer. “Tomorrow at sunset, Oakenshield! Alone!”

“Alright—alright!” Slowly, Fili blinked open his eyes, but he was too slow to see his uncle again, instead all he saw was the small hoard of orcs behind him.

“FILI!” Kili’s scream was shrill, and all at once Fili found an energy he did not know he had as he kicked backwards and collapsed onto his side, forgetting about his knee and wrist and bleeding head entirely. 

His brother could not come up here, could not risk himself--Fili was and would always be the older brother, the protector, and he could not risk his little brother's life for his own.

“KILI, NO! DON’T YOU-“

The last thing Fili saw was Azog’s boot nearing before he lost touch with reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thanks for your patience as I learn how posting on AO3 works, I've been a reader on here as a guest for a long while but am still learning the formatting when it comes to posting, tags, etc.  
> Next Chapter: Thorin witnesses what has transpired and makes amends where he can, Kili tries to race after his brother, and the company attempts to wrangle the armies' leaders together to plan their future actions.


	2. Readying respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin witnesses what has transpired and makes amends where he can, Kili tries to race after his brother, and the company attempts to wrangle the armies' leaders together to plan their future actions.

The Battle of Ravenhill  
Chapter Two

“Oh, no,” Those were the first words that pulled Thorin from his reverie, and yanked his gaze away from the cliffside of Ravenhill across the valley where Azog—the filth, the killer of his brother and father, the monster which did nothing but torment his people—had hoisted his sister-son up like a prize. Thorin’s gut was in knots, and it had only been Dwalin who had held him back from charging.

Wordlessly, Thorin turned to throw a questioning look at their Hobbit, because _oh no_ was certainly an understatement of pitiful proportions. 

“Kili,” Bilbo croaked, as if that explained everything, and it did, because Thorin then turned back towards Ravenhill with a thunderous rush of fear of a different kind. Without reply, he ran, with Dwalin and Bilbo behind him as they followed the faint flicker of auburn hair at the base of Ravenhill, which was all he could see of Kili running into the ruins. Vaguely, Thorin was aware of an orc horn sounding, echoing hollowly across the mountains, calling for a temporary retreat, but his only focus was on his youngest sister-son. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the King Under the Mountain was torn, and Uncle Thorin was beginning to rip his way free once more.

This race did not last long, however, as Thorin soon rounded a corner at the entry to the ruins and skidded to a halt before he could accidentally run through two elves with his sword. One of the two was holding Kili back, much the same way Dwalin had done for him. 

“Kili,” a redheaded elf said, her voice calm as she knelt next to the distraught dwarf, wiping a hand across tear and dirt stricken cheeks, arms wrapped around him. “Mellon nin, please, this will do your brother no good.”

The other elf, who Thorin immediately recognized as Thranduil’s son causing a vehement rush of hot anger to flood his veins, spoke next, his voice low and hard. “Tauriel, we must leave this evil place. Now.”

“This ground is not evil,” Thorin rebutted, simply because he could. “Just its intruders. Kili,” his youngest nephew had ceased his struggling in the elf, Tauriel’s, grip until he was nearly limp, even as Thorin approached and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Kili, we must regroup and discuss our plans. We are getting your brother back,” because to not do so had never even been a question. 

Kili looked up at him with glassy eyes, and Thorin may as well have been kicked in the gut. Not for the first time, and Mahal he hoped not for the last, he was struck by how young his boys were, how wrong it was for them to be here, even worse that they did not have a choice. “I can’t lose you, too,” Kili said, his words spoken from a torn throat, and forced out. “I cannot lose father and Fili and-“

The elves stepped back, and Thorin placed both hands on Kili’s shoulders before bringing their foreheads together. “You shall not, nor have you lost your brother. He’s a fighter, he said so himself when this quest began. He shall get through this, as will we,” albeit, who Thorin was trying to convince, he was unsure of. “Come, we have much to discuss with the company,” because if there was one thing which could get Thorin’s mind off of what Fili may be facing, it was planning and strategizing a way to save him, “and many fallen soldiers must be recovered to ensure they get respectful burials,” because Thorin doubted they would get a lapse in such a fight again, should it start back up. 

By the time they rounded the top of the incline leading to the slope of Ravenhill, all of the orcs had retreated along with their beasts, leaving the battlefield a carnage of elves, men, and dwarves. While the first thing that Thorin’s gaze was drawn to was the slew of unmoving figures across the stone and plains, what he heard made him wish to block the sound out entirely: the victorious cries of those in battle. They had not known what the retreat was called for, they all likely thought the battle was over and won, and Thorin had imagined this day for years, and now the victorious beaming faces of his fellow soldiers was a mockery of falsehoods. 

The first familiar face that Thorin saw was Balin, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips but worry shone in his eyes when they fell upon Thorin. “Has Azog been defeated?”

Trust the wise dwarf to stop and see the bigger picture. Wordlessly, Thorin shook his head. “Gather the company along with Dain, Bard, and,” Thorin tried to hold back his scathing tone with minimal success, “Thranduil. A council must be held to plan what is to come.”

“I shall get my father,” Legolas said, and without further comment, turned and fled. Tauriel squeezed Kili’s shoulder briefly before following after.

Balin’s gaze turned from Thorin, to Bilbo, to Kili, to Dwalin, before doing a double take. “Where is Fili?” A hesitation hung in the air, and all at once Balin paled. “No, Mahal-“

“No, my friend. He is, I believe, alive,” he would do Azog no good dead, after all. However, there was a vast difference between alive and well. “Azog has taken him prisoner. 

If possible, Balin paled further, his eyebrows pulling together. “No, lad. No. I… I shall gather the company right away.” Balin turned and began making his way through the nearby groups of dwarves, many of whom had quieted to listen to the exchange, and averted their gazes when Thorin’s swept over them. 

“I shall get Bard,” Dwalin said, clasping Thorin once on the back hard as if to ground him, before leaving as well. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin turned towards the hobbit, who looked over to him with slight surprise. “May you get the wizard for me?” Bilbo nodded and turned to leave, yet Thorin caught him by the arm. “Bilbo, if I may… I wish to apologize sincerely for my words. Never would I want us to part as anything less than friends, and you did that which only a true friend would do. Your actions saved not only me but this company, and perhaps the potential fate of Erebor. I shall never forget that, and although our challenges are far from over… I had to apologize, and I can only hope you will accept my words.”

For many moments, Bilbo stared, his mouth opening and closing as he wrestled with a reply. “Thorin, I will always consider you a friend,” he said finally, and Thorin could not stop himself, he was overwhelmed both by the rush of crippling fear and worry and a fierce protectiveness and waves of relief like he had been once the eagles rescued the company at the cliff. He tugged the hobbit into a swift embrace before stepping back just as quickly. “But you must not say these things because of Azog’s deal. You musn’t trade yourself for Fili—and—now, I wish to rescue him as much as everyone else, but these people need you. They need their king.”

Thorin’s words stuck to his tongue. “I know, and I do not intend to do so. We shall find another way. Thank you, Bilbo. Thank you.”

With a smile, Bilbo nodded and dashed away to find Gandalf. Meanwhile, Thorin turned back to Kili, who had hung behind the others, head bowed. “Hrethhiem,” Thorin said, adopting the nickname he had not used with the boys for a long while. It almost made Kili smile, and that was enough. “We shall get your brother back. I swear to you. I will do everything in my power, and I know you and the rest of the company shall as well.”

“Azog is hurting him. I’m sure of it-“

Thorin shook his head, “You musn’t think of that. Just think of how to get him back. Fili is strong, you always said so, Gáldhiem will be the strongest King Middle Earth has ever seen,”

“Uncle, I was ten,” Kili said, his words tight and taunt. 

“We will save him,” Thorin had to, if he did a single damned thing right during this quest, it would be saving his sister-son. “Now come, we have much to discuss and plan. The sooner we do so, the sooner we shall get your brother back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! For anyone who is wondering, Thorin's nicknames for the boy's here (Hrethhiem - shadow head for Kili, and Gáldhiem - bright head for Fili) I got from a translation I got from a website called Paolini, so if there is a better translation please let me know, I would appreciate it.
> 
> Next Chapter: Fili wakes to determine the state of his capture, and Azog makes good on the fact that never once did he claim to keep the heir unharmed.


	3. Intend to take it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fili wakes to determine the state of his capture, and Azog makes good on the fact that never once did he claim to keep the heir unharmed.

The Battle of Ravenhill  
Chapter Three

The first thing Fili thought of when he woke up, was that he almost did not expect to. A part of him was sure that as soon as Azog had dragged him back into the ruins of Ravenhill, he would be killed and the entire plan to get Thorin to exchange places with him had been a ruse. Fili had, actually, hoped that to be true. He would easily choose to die rather than be the cause of his family’s hardships. However, it seemed he was going to have little say in the matter, as the next thing he noticed was that he could hardly move, even if his knee and wrist had not been broken. 

He supposed, from a tactical standpoint, it made sense. There was a chain around his neck, tied off to something much too heavy for him to move without choking himself. His hands were bound behind him and his outer armor had been removed, causing a bitter shiver to wrack his body as soon as a gust of icy wind kicked up. 

The orcs had retreated deeper into the ruins, as Fili could not see outside at all and the only source of light was the occasional amber glow of the torches which the creatures carried with them and littered the ground with. Everything ached as he tried to glance around; his head spun and all of his muscles ached in protest. The battle even prior to his family and Dwalin approaching Ravenhill had been hard-fought and brutal. Now that he did not have pure adrenaline coursing through him, and could actually take stock of his injuries, he could tell various cuts and bruises littered his person from the mayhem of charging from the gates of Erebor. The gash on his thigh was the most concerning, which was yet to stop bleeding albeit, based on his view alone, did not seem to be life-threateningly deep. The only thing life-threatening was standing a few arm lengths in front of him, barking orders in Orkish to those around him. One of the orcs gestured over Azog’s shoulder and the Defiler turned, and what almost was akin to a snarling smile spread across his taunt features. 

“The boy is awake.”

Fili spat in his direction, “ _Men an urtag menu!_ ” 

Azog’s expression widened, “How can you, little heir?” Azog lifted something that Fili had not seen before, a strand of gold with a silver bead at the end, and his stomach dropped. It was the bead that his uncle had taught him how to make when he was young, with the symbol denoting him as Thorin’s first and oldest heir carved around the metal. Evidently the braid which held it had been ripped out while he was unconscious. 

When Fili tried to lunge forward, his wrist burned and he coughed as the chain blocked what little airflow he could achieve. Before he could regain his breath, a boot met his middle and he fell onto his back, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out, never about to give any satisfaction from letting Azog know he was in any pain. “ _Ishkh khakfe andu null,_ ” Fili said. 

There was a scuffle, further barking of orders, and despite his struggles Fili was wrenched around so that he was facing the wall, coughing as the chain around his neck evidently was not meant to move so far, and his good hand was tugged backwards. His back arched to follow the motion before something could snap, yet a sudden pain in the tip of his fingers had him clenching his teeth shut, exhaling sharply, a hitched moan the only verbal sign of his distress. Another, equal pain soon followed around his thumb, and the swift stickiness which coated his hands was a telltale sign enough. “Stop,” he shouted, kicking backwards, his knee be damned, only for him to be beat over the head with a blunt object. By the time he managed to uncurl himself from where he had fallen against the wall, Fili’s left hand was trembling violently, and he couldn’t slow down his pitched breathing. He couldn’t see what was done, and by Mahal he did not want to. He knew enough about orcs to figure a few fingernails were likely missing, but the pain was so overwhelming he hadn’t the faintest clue which ones. Not that it mattered. 

“Thorin will—will not come,” Fili said, the words a battle to voice alone. 

“I disagree. Although your line,” Azog stepped on Fili’s knee as he spoke, causing the dwarf to flinch as he was pinned by the limb, “has been enough trouble I should make quick work of you.”

“Then why don’t you?” That would be better if the orc did, Fili was sure of it. “You have me. Why not kill me however you please? It’s what you’ve wanted! To end the Durin-“ Fili’s words broke off with a cry as Azog twisted his boot, causing the bone and cartilage to crunch, and stepped off of his leg. However, instead of continuing the attack, he stomped backwards, and Fili grit his teeth. If he angered Azog enough, this could be over. His pain would be temporary, and his family would be safe. “You want revenge against my uncle, do you not? For him taking your arm? For him disgracing you! Then take it!”

In a blink, Azog’s blade was looping through the chain holding him in place and lifting him off his feet, the chain tightening around his neck until he couldn’t breathe, a rasping cough the only sound he could make. “I intend to take it, little prince. With time. In the way I know will most make Oakenshield squirm, and that is not through your swift death." 

Fili was beginning to pick up on a pattern, and that was when Azog began ordering the other orcs around, something unpleasant was coming, and he normally had little time to prepare himself for it. Azog threw him back against the stone, and his hands, still trembling, scrapped across the surface as he fought to catch himself. He was swarmed, and he stiffened, only spitting in the direction of the nearest orc as a blade sliced across his chest, cutting open his tunic and chest in a swift motion. Two orcs, giant by their standard yet still smaller than Azog, pressed down on his shoulders and legs. Fili’s chest heaved, burning with each motion, and blue eyes widened when he saw what Azog was holding when he approached. 

“You are fortunate that I do not take your arm, little heir,” Azog said, lifting a brand, glowing a brilliant ochre, just over Fili’s chest until his collarbones already blistered with heat.

“Wait,” Fili said, the word slipping past his lips before he could stop it. “What—what is that—wait-“ he cut himself off, glaring, unflinchingly, up at Azog. No one in the line of Durin would show cowardice in front of an enemy, he told himself, and his resolve steeled as much as possible. 

“ _Uruk durb_ ,” Azog said, reading the words inscribed on the blazing brand. Those words Fili knew, fragmented Orkish, evil and forlorn by respectable company, and commonly used on the flanks of wargs to denote ownership. Fili lurched forward, a gleaming severity in his gaze, the blistering, nearing heat forgotten.

“I bow to the King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield, and that’s-“ any further protests were cut off with a howl as the brand connected with his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough translations:  
> \- Men an urtag menu - I will hurt you  
> \- Ishkh khakfe andu null - to pour excrement/shit on one's head  
> \- Uruk durb - To be under orc rule
> 
> Next Chapter: The company, Bard, Dain, Legolas, and Thranduil all meet to decide their next course of action, however not everyone is in agreement about what one prince's life is worth. Kili, fearing for his brother's safety, begins his own plan to rescue him. It does not go as planned.


	4. Not alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The company, Bard, Dain, Legolas, and Thranduil all meet to decide their next course of action, however not everyone is in agreement about what one prince's life is worth. Kili, fearing for his brother's safety, begins his own plan to rescue him. It does not go as planned.

The Battle of Ravenhill  
Chapter 4

“I fail to see why we should interrupt the entire course of battle for one dwarf,” Thranduil’s voice carried, low and jilting, across the tent. Thorin, standing across from the Elf Lord, fumed. 

“That one dwarf is my family, my heir! Either I shall meet Azog this time tomorrow and we shall lose two of the three remaining heirs of Durin’s folk, or we come up with another solution.” 

It seemed to Thorin that every attempt at seeking an alternative given the ultimatum posed by Azog was met with defiance from someone present, primarily, that of Thranduil. Occasionally the elf lord and his son would break off into rapid elvish, occasionally broken up or added onto by the wizard, but otherwise Thranduil spoke in no way which was not in direct contradiction to Thorin’s words. 

“It shall be a trap, that much is obvious,” said Bard, still soot stained and weary as the rest of them. A hand scraped across his mouth in consideration. “I too must admit I am hesitant to redirect my soldiers on a rescue mission into a fortress which they have never even entered before, against an enemy they know so little of. My men are civilians, they only just received training.”

Thorin grit his teeth and nodded, “Which is why the elves ought to accompany me!”

Before Thranduil even had the chance to agree or, more likely Thorin figured, vehemently say otherwise, his cousin, Dain, spoke up. “Lad, you have the Ironfeet at your side. We need no arrogant elves!”

“Might I remind you,” Legolas said, striding in front of his father, “That were it not for arrogant elves the dwarves would have been slaughtered by now!”

From the corner of the tent, Gandalf, who had spent the majority of the meeting silent save for a few remarks, appeared to almost grow in size as he slammed his staff against the ground with a rumble, “Enough! I fear there are far more sinister forces at work here than a mere rivalry between Durin’s folk and orcs-“

“A mere rivalry?” Thorin asked, his head tilting to the side, as if coaxing the wizard to say more. “You stock the deaths of my forefathers and the loss of my people’s home up to a mere rivalry?”

“Thorin Oakenshield, you must listen to someone other than yourself at some point in your life, and that point may as well be now!” Gandalf said, approaching swiftly until Thorin had to crane his neck to continue to meet the wizard’s gaze. He, however, gestured forward with a mocking smile for Gandalf to continue. “As Legolas told before, there are orcs coming from Gundabad, and these forces are better organized and equipped than any orc army I have seen for ages. I fear, given Erebor’s position, this could be the start of something much more evil and long withstanding—should one capture Erebor, they have a direct line of attack into Mirkwood and Rivendell. We must drive the orcs out, and cut the heads off this snake so as to ensure that nothing worse may come of it.”

“You suggest my kingdoms could fall to this unnamed power?” Thranduil asked, before shaking his head. “You speak falsely, Gandalf, for I think perhaps you have passed your peak. I, too, understand there could be exterior forces at work, but you should not hide your true intentions behind claiming to protect my home and my people. I can protect my own.”

“For once I agree with the elf,” Thorin said. “My priority is killing Azog, and ensuring Fili’s safety, and that is all for the time being.”

“Wait,” Bard said. “If there is something more at play here, then that could mean another battle, more reinforcements for the orcs arriving. Perhaps we should have more caution.”

Thorin, for he never claimed to be a patient man, groaned at the same time that Gandalf, Dain, and Thranduil all began speaking at once. 

Balin scoffed, leaning to haul Thorin out of the tent momentarily for a respite, muttering, “Damned folks can all agree in the heat of battle, but force them into a discussion and they lose all civility.” Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin stopped a ways from the tent. The fields had been cleaned of the bodies of the deceased, and a healing home was set up in the entrance to the Lonely Mountain, along with numerous tents scattered across the way. The moon was high in the sky and a chill crept into the air, winding around Thorin who pulled his furs closer around his shoulders, leaning heavily on a cane which Oin had forced on him. They crossed the fields, guided by the silver moon, until they found Kili, Bilbo, Gloin, and, surprisingly, the redheaded elf woman, who was tending to various small scratches which the former two had received throughout the day. Thorin had initially insisted on Kili being present for the discussion, but after the lad almost looked furious enough to put an arrow in Thranduil’s eye socket and displayed a colorful, Khuzdul outburst which Dis would have even been ashamed of, he ordered Kili to wait outside. 

Thorin offered Tauriel a simple, stiff nod in silent greeting, having been told of how she assisted his company earlier at Bard's home. Even if Thorin heard no details, she thus earned as much respect as Thorin likely would ever bestow upon an elf.

“What is the plan?” Gloin asked.

Thorin crossed his arms and shook his head. “No one can agree on anything. If you ask me, I say I meet Azog tomorrow evening with the Company and those few I trust hiding in the hills nearby, ready to attack at the first chance they get.” No matter what Thorin tried, every time he closed his eyes he saw Fili dragged from Ravenhill by Azog, and for a brief flicker of a moment, Thorin thought he saw his younger brother. Then he would see one of his last conversations—if one could call a command given through gold-sickness such—with the lad. Grabbing him, trying to force obedience on a boy who had almost always been nothing but, to get him to remove Bilbo from the wall. How wrong and blinded he had been. Bilbo, one of the truest friends he had even after such a brief time, Fili, knowing what his uncle was doing was wrong and refusing in a manner that took much more bravery and character than abiding by Thorin’s wishes would have. Fili was a better dwarf than Thorin, with more care for his family and less greed, more diplomacy and patience, and would make a better king one day. Thorin would do everything within his power to ensure such a future be possible. “Rescuing Fili is the first priority.”

Kili stood with a jolt, “I am coming with you-“

Before Thorin could agree or not, Balin spoke over him, “And risk your life, Thorin? We know this to be a trap.” 

“No,” Bilbo interjected. “You told me you wouldn’t-“

“I do not wish to!” Thorin thundered, “And yet I shall not sit idly aside while my sister-son receives the same treatment which lead to my father’s, grandfather’s, and brother’s death at the hands of the Defiler and those like him!” Thorin had heard the stories, clear as a bell, from his council numerous times throughout his life. Thror, wandering into Moria in a desperate attempt to reclaim a homeland, branded and murdered. Thrain, missing, tortured to the point of no longer remembering who he was, the final dwarven ring of power stolen from him, lost to Mahal knew where. Frerin, so young and so like Fili, golden-haired, studious, quirky, and fiercely protective, hoisted like a prize when he perished at Azanulbizar. “Blast the wizard for all of his secrets, yet if he believes Azog has outside forces at his disposal, than, after everything we have seen, I have to believe it to be true no matter how I do not want to. The sooner we attack, the less time he has to prepare,” and the less time Fili could potentially be hurt or tormented or—or—Thorin did not finish that thought. 

“Let me go tonight,” Bilbo said, looking between the others, a sudden curious expression on his face. “I have not ever gotten caught. If I can steal from a dragon, what’s looking around past a few orcs?”

“I will not risk anyone’s life further,” Thorin said.

Bilbo, unflinching, smiled and shook his head. “No, no, you will. Because this is not your choice. I have the mithril you gave me, you said it is basically impossible to pierce. I’ll go, see how Fili is, and we can make a more informed decision. Who knows, maybe I shall get lucky and be able to get Fili out?” 

Far from the first time, and likely far from the last, Thorin was struck by the selflessness of hobbits, their burglar in particular. Out of his peripheral, however, Thorin saw how Kili watched the exchange, amber eyes practically glowing with fire, fingers twitching with nerves, to the point where the outburst should have been foreseeable. 

“No,” Kili shook Tauriel’s hand from his shoulders, as evidently she had been trying to coax him back. “Fili needs to be rescued right now, and no scouting mission shall do anything to help him. I shall not wait a whole day.”

Dwalin stepped between Kili and Thorin. “Lad, we all want him safe. We are all worried. Yet we cannot rush into this. You saw in battle, Azog has another general at his command who appears to be just as formidable a foe as Azog himself. We all wish to separate their heads from their shoulders, but your brother will die if we are not careful. Let the hobbit go and see for himself-“

“Or Fili could already be dead!” Kili wailed, his voice cracking, eyes shining with something between despair and white-hot tears of fury. “We do not have time to be careful! Clearly none of you are worried enough if you are all debating instead of actually doing anything to save-“

Kili’s words were cut off by the overhead squawk of a bird which Thorin was not familiar with. It was much larger than the thrush and ravens which were known to occupy the Lonely Mountain. It’s mere approach left a heavy feeling in Thorin’s gut, one which only intensified when he saw the bird drop a small, dirty satchel from overgrown talons. Before he could even think about retrieving the satchel, Kili, young, spry dwarfling that he was, lunged for it first and opened it with nimble fingers, Bilbo at his side. Kili dropped it with a scream. 

“Oh dear,” Bilbo turned, appearing pale and covering his lips with a fist as if it would ward off sickness. 

Thorin rushed past his sister-son to pick up the package, the others crowded around him as he did so. Up close, the fabric was dirty, bloodied, and fowl smelling. Inside sat a blond braid with Fili’s bead denoting him as Thorin’s heir, along with multiple red-stained fingernails. Thorin felt ill to the point that he hardly noticed Kili stomp off, the elf woman following at his heels, until Balin nudged him. 

“The lad’s strong, Thorin,” Balin said, his voice wavering. “They both are. They shall get through this.”

Thorin, weighed down by years of watching the boys grow up in a home which was not theirs, surrounded by poverty which he always thought above them, trying and failing and failing and _failing_ to step in as a father figure, found his own words to be a low, dangerous tumble. “They shouldn’t have to be so strong this young.”

*******

“I’m going after him, I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it,” Kili said, patting down his person to check for his weapons. His left arm moved sluggishly due to a gash across his bicep, but he no longer felt the pain. All he could sense was a rush of burning, jittery fury and the urge to scream. For his entire life, Fili had kept Kili safe, leaving Kili feeling as if he owed his brother something especially as he grew older. At first, it was irritating, a need to prove himself left unfinished as Fili dragged him out of problems repeatedly. Now, with hindsight, Kili could understand that Fili simply wanted to keep him safe. Now, it seemed, he would have one giant chance to return the favor, and Kili had his mind set—it would be done, or he would die trying.

“Kili, wait,” Tauriel chased after him, around the tents, to where the edge of where the battlefield began and the safety of the shelter, stretched from Dale to Erebor, ceased. “Stop and think about this for a moment-“

Whipping around, Kili’s anger simmered at the sight of Tauriel, hard-eyed, a crease between her eyebrows. No one else was around that he could see, and something in him cracked. “Tauriel, please. I must do this. He is my brother.”

“I know, but…. You’re wounded. You’re distressed. I know that Fili means more to you than words can express, more than I can understand, but this is unwise. Azog wants your family dead, if you go after them, and he catches you too, he will kill you. Fili will blame himself. If you insist so on rescuing him before Thorin can arrange an exchange tomorrow, then let me go in your stead. Azog does not know me. I can scale the side of Ravenhill and sneak in that way. Please.”

For many moments, neither spoke, with Kili’s uneven breath, hitched from fear and nerves, the only thing breaking the silence. “Are you sure?”

Another voice, low and clear through the trees, answered. “He na’u, sui he baw glenn.” Kili went for his knife, but Tauriel swiftly lifted her hand to stop him. 

“Legolas,” Tauriel said. “I am sure and I shall go.”

Kili, not understanding what the man said but getting the gist of it based on Tauriel’s response, glared at the new arrival. “If she wishes to go then that is her choice.”

“It sounds as if it is yours,” Legolas retorted. “Tauriel, I shall not allow you to do this,” a pause followed, during which Kili almost snapped, almost screamed at the elf, prince or not, that he did not care for his brother or the war or anything upon Middle Earth, until he spoke again. “At least not alone.”

It practically felt as if Kili got whiplash from the sudden change. “You—wait. You would help?”

“No one deserves to suffer at the hands of such evil creatures,” Legolas turned to Tauriel, and Kili felt a sudden snag in his chest, “and I would never send someone I care for into a potential fight alone if I can help it. We scout the area for the dwarf, rescue him if we have the opportunity, but if not we are returning alone.”

Kili supposed that was as good of a situation as he could hope for. Besides, he had seen Tauriel and Legolas in battle, and although he had a much higher regard for the former, they both were formidable and fierce opponents. Plus, all elves that Kili had ever met could be eerily quiet and light on their feet when they wanted to be, even more than dwarves. “That is all I ask,” Kili said, his throat tightening again, hands clenching into tight fists at his sides until his wounded arm ached. 

“And not a word to my father,” Legolas added. Kili lifted both hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture. 

“I will not tell your father if you do not tell my uncle.”

Tauriel actually laughed, a sing-song humorless thing which made Kili smile. “This sounds an awful lot like treason,” she said.

Legolas threw her a smirk, “I do not see you protesting it.”

“Never said I was. Kili,” she turned to the dwarf, lowering herself onto her knees so that she could pull him into a proper hug. “We shall do whatever we can for your brother, I swear. We shall meet you back here before sunrise.”

It took Kili likely longer than was acceptable to peel himself away from the embrace, and when he did, it was with a mixture of weariness and fear and fury at Azog and Fili’s selfless need to protect him all dancing across his expression in a cacophony of unease. “I—I know you will. Thank you.”

Silently, Kili watched the two elves slip away, and he could not find the willpower to walk away until much later, when he was sure that if he did not show, Thorin would begin to worry. He managed to sit through the remainder of the meetings between Thorin, Dain, Bard, Gandalf, and Thranduil with minimal interruptions. He was not listening, much. It felt like a much better use of his time for him to imagine how Tauriel or Legolas were doing, or to listen for any sounds outside of the tent that could alert him to their whereabouts and success or lack thereof. 

It was not until it was nearing sunrise that Kili slipped away, back to the designated meeting spot, and waited. And waited. He paced and sat and whittled with a piece of wood he found on the ground and waited. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, and Kili was reminded of how he had not eaten in some time as he felt like vomiting yet knew nothing would come up. He took in a heaving, shuddering breath when he heard the crunch of uneven footsteps behind him and he whirled around, eyes widening.

“Tauriel! What happened?” Kili rushed towards the woman, she was disheveled, with a garnet stain across her front. Tauriel did not reply, instead gave a low, moan of pain. She clutched the wound which Kili focused in on, gently shifting her arm away so he could look. It appeared worse than it was, the red littered with splatters of black orc blood which at first gave Kili hope, until he realized something. “Where is Legolas?”

“I’m sorry,” Tauriel said, and Kili stepped back, all of his limbs going cold and numb. “We could not find Fili, Azog has him much deeper in Ravenhill than we thought. Legolas—he—he tried to go inside to find him,” Tauriel’s voice cracked, “but he never came out. I fear the orcs have captured him, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to one of the first major cliffhangers of the story! Hope you are enjoying it so far. 
> 
> Question to readers: What are your thoughts on the Kili/Tauriel ship? Do you like it? Prefer they stay friends? Awkwardly acknowledge that they thought they had something and then realize they have only known each other for a matter of days so they backtrack? (I'm fond of the latter, but let me know what you would like to read and I will do my best to use that, since I could go many ways on their relationship).
> 
> Question Two: While we are at it and talking about ships - thoughts on the Bilbo/Thorin Ship? Like it? Not your cup of tea? I am also rather neutral on this ship, and could include it or not. It would not be as much of a focus for the story, but I would still appreciate input so I can suit readers preferences since I can take or leave it. 
> 
> Thanks all, much love - Jay.
> 
> Elvish translations from Fun Translations . com  
> \- He na u, sui he baw glenn – she is not as she will not go. 
> 
> Next Chapter: Legolas enters Ravenhill alone. There, he finds Fili, little hope for help arises--for either of them. Thranduil has a change of heart about the situation (maybe, just maybe, because his son is in danger as well).


	5. Out of the frying pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas enters Ravenhill alone. There, he finds Fili, little hope for help arises--for either of them. Thranduil has a change of heart about the situation (maybe, just maybe, because his son is in danger as well).

The Battle of Ravenhill  
Chapter Five 

If almost anyone but Tauriel had asked Legolas to go snooping through an abandoned Erebor ruin in search of Thorin Oakenshield's heir who had been captured by orcs, he would have laughed. Then again, if anyone had told Legolas he would actually be caught in his effort to do so, he would have laughed even further. Or so he said.

He was not laughing currently. 

Two orcs, one at either side, hauled him through an archway further into Ravenhill. He was yet to locate the dwarf who he was supposed to be rescuing, could not even remember his name save for the fact that he was Thorin’s heir, as he doubted he would find more than one dwarf in the ruins. Still, he tensed and held his chin high as a third orc approached him, giving a screech and a garbled set of orders, before searching him for weapons. He had no obvious armor, still his coat was all but shredded and removed. Fortunately, due to being an elf, he did not feel much of the cold even through his ecru tunic alone. 

After being hauled even further into the ruins, where none of the moonlight even passed through any windows, he came face to face with Azog, the orc who he had heard much about but had never seen up close. “Found him wandering the outskirts of the ruins,” another of the orcs said. 

“I have no interest in an elf,” said Azog. “You may kill him.”

Legolas’ stomach jumped into his throat when a blade met his neck, “Wait,” he exclaimed, his voice level despite the way his jaw clenched. He could only hope that the orc could understand Westron as decently as he could speak it. “I was sent to check on the state of the dwarf who you have prisoner. Thorin Oakenshield,” he noticed the blade was pressed until it could nearly spill blood at the name, “does not trust that you shall keep him alive until he can exchange places.” 

Azog laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “Oakenshield would not send an elf to ensure the safety of his heir.”

As soon as the words had been spoken, Legolas realized how foolish they had been, as the Defiler was correct. “My Lord sent me,” Legolas amended. “Lord Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. He thought perhaps Oakenshield was lying about the capture, so that Thranduil would redirect his forces away from the Mountain. You know he desires the riches of Erebor, as do the men. I was sent on Thranduil’s behalf to ensure the dwarf was not lying.” 

A large hand crashed across Legolas’ face without warning, and a twitch and sting followed as blood dripped faintly from his nose. He could not remember the last time he had been careless enough to bleed. Never had it been for a dwarf, nor, he doubted, would it ever be again. “My Lord wishes for me to return to him. Simply show me that the dwarf is alive and I shall leave.” 

Azog gave a string of orders in Orkish which Legolas could not understand, and he was being dragged down a hall and around a corner. There, he spotted the dwarf, and only the slight widening of Legolas’ eyes was the only outward sign of surprise he showed before masking it. The dwarf was, obviously, in rough shape and certainly would not be making it out of Ravenhill by himself, that is, unless Legolas was seriously underestimating him, which was doubtful. He was chained to the wall by his neck—one could cut off their hand or foot but not their head, so that was a frustrating realization, and his right knee and one of his hands looked swollen and bruised. The same hand was covered in dried blood, as was the side of his head and his hair, which looked choppy in places as if it had been yanked out. Blearily, the dwarf opened his eyes, and Legolas could tell how he was related to Thorin, as most other things about him were unfamiliar—but his eyes were the same as the supposed King Under the Mountain, the same icy blue, and Legolas cursed. He had almost hoped there was some mix-up, yet, it seemed they would not get that fortunate. 

Without warning or precedent, Legolas was thrown into the wall next to the dwarf and wrestled into a chain similar to that of the other prisoner. Twice Legolas bit the offending hands, and his ankle was crushed under a heavy boot when he kicked the nearest orc in the groin. 

The dwarf spat something in Khuzdule which Legolas did not understand, earning him a slap across the face which all but flung him into his back, just as the chain was locked around Legolas’ neck. 

“It seemed we had an attempt to change my plans,” Azog announced, picking up the dwarf by the chain and swinging him around, until his chest collided with the torch hung on the wall. Legolas sat up straighter to hide his wince. “I told Oakenshield to meet me tomorrow—and yet this elf arrives anyways. Why is that?”

“I do not know them,” The dwarf said.

“Who are they?” Azog asked again, shoving the dwarf further into the wall.

Again, the dwarf protested, “I know not! My uncle would never ask an elf to help him!”

A twisted sneer warped Azog’s expression. “Then I suppose I shall let you off easy, little prince. The threat to cut off your arm still stands, yet, there are other aspects I can remove.”

Legolas tried to get up and rush Azog, but the chain tightened around his neck as soon as he stood, keeping him in place. “Leave him be!” Legolas said. “I came on behalf of Thranduil!”

“I trust elves almost as little as I trust dwarves,” Azog announced, elbowing the dwarf, who thus remained silent, into the back and slid him closer to the torch until the golden light licked at his face. “Dwarves do not need their beards, do they, little heir?”

Again, Legolas tried to move, to kick at Azog’s legs, yet he could not reach and the dwarf remained silent. The orc was between Legolas and the other prisoner, and thus blocked much of Legolas’ field of vision, but the smells and sounds eventually reached him—that of burning hair and a slow building scream, fighting to be released before being reeled back in, stifled, and the process began again. There was nothing Legolas could do except watch, as he held his tongue, knowing it would do neither him nor the dwarf any good. Just when Legolas was sure the dwarf would pass out, something would be irreparably damaged, Azog turned around and threw the dwarf at the elf’s side. His beard and the ends of the hair on his head had been burned, the skin blistering, Azog must have kept something over the dwarf’s mouth as that was relatively unharmed, likely so information could be passed should he crack in some capacity, but that did little to sooth the damage that was done. What was once tawny skin was blotchy garnet and white, peeling and inflamed, and before Legolas could get a closer look the dwarf ducked his head and curled in on himself, breath shallow and rapid. 

“Let me see,” Legolas said once the orcs had left them.

The dwarf shook his head, “No, leave.”

“I can help,” Legolas said. “The orcs did not take my herbs, I may heal you. Let me try.”

That must have pushed the dwarf in some way, as he looked up with a snarl, his expression contorting into a mixture of pain and anger and glistening eyes. “Why are you here?”

Legolas faltered, before he lifted both hands in what he could only hope was a calming gesture. “I was rescuing you, is it not obvious?” The dwarf almost smirked, but stopped as a hand shot up towards his chin in discomfort, and Legolas decided this one was… bearable. For a dwarf. “I am Legolas. I know you to be Thorin’s heir, but what is your name?”

“Fili,” the dwarf said, his words coming out more careful now, slower, and Legolas realized each word, which tugged on damaged skin, was probably excruciating. “You are Thranduil’s… you know. Is there anything which—which identifies-“ Fili cut himself off, cursing and trying to rub at his face again. Legolas grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Other than my great resemblance to my father? No. Stop speaking, allow me to help. If the orcs know who I am, they know, and if they do not, I will do everything to ensure it stays that way,” as Lelgolas spoke, he began rummaging through his pockets. The herbs were crushed and torn, yet he hoped they could do something in some capacity to help Fili, lest the burns become infected, then they would really have a problem on their hands. "It is my fault they did this, so I shall fix it.”

In response, it sounded as if Fili grunted or mumbled something disagreeable but did not further protest, giving Legolas the opportunity to focus on finding what herbs he could on his person and prepare them in his hands. Snow would have to make-do in place of water, luckily enough had been tracked into the ruins, and a brief time later Legolas had laid what he could of the herbs over the dwarf’s burns. 

“Hold still,” Legolas instructed, as he began the rhythmic words under his breath, a warmth and safety flooding through him as the energy sprung forth from his hands, like the gentle envelopment of a warm hearth. The only thing that noted to Legolas that he should stop was when Fili’s eyes began to droop, and he only shook himself back into the present moment after Legolas’ hushed chants ceased. The burns looked better, pink instead of red, the blisters were gone—there was still an obvious color difference within the skin, it was still irritated and slightly inflamed, but gone were Legolas’ fears of infection. “How do you feel?” Legolas asked, carefully pulling his hands back.

“You know what happened the last time someone was this close to me?” Legolas almost rolled his eyes at the question, certain this was going to curtail into some raunchy, low dwarvish humor. 

“You took them to bed?” Legolas deadpanned. 

Fili smiled, the twitch of his lips more natural and less disjointed. “No. I got punched. I appreciate you, Legolas of the Woodland Realm.” 

Legolas returned the smile. Yes. This dwarf was indeed bearable. “I would offer to do what I could for your hands or your knee, but I am afraid I am out of herbs.”

“No harm, you have already done more for me than you ought have. I am guessing my brother sent you?”

Legolas shook his head. “In a way.” He watched the slow tilt of Fili’s head in silent question. “He sent… Tauriel. I went in her stead.”

“Ah,” Fili said. “The red-headed elf that Kili has been cooing over?” Something in Legolas’ expression must have given away his displeasure, because Fili’s tone immediately shifted from weak amusement to something more somber. “Let me tell you something, Legolas. I doubt my brother’s feelings for this Tauriel are love, although he says they are. Kili is young, as am I if I shall be honest, and this is his first time far from home. Our mother, uncle and I did everything we could to protect him from this. This quest, for him, is just as much a growing experience as it is the chance to reclaim our home. I would imagine, give him some time after we… if we… reclaim Erebor, and he will grow into himself. His feelings will change. They may fade, or solidify, I know not, but he has much growing left to do.” 

A part of Legolas waited, as if more would be said, but it swiftly became obvious to him that the dwarf had said with he wished. “It matters not to me if his feelings change or not.”

Fili’s eyes widened. “You love her.”

“It matters not,” Legolas said again. “Elves have very intimate connections with their emotions, and those they choose to tie themselves to. I shall not try to convince her to feel something she does not.” Legolas repeated, growing silent. Thankfully, the dwarf seemed to get the silent message, and spoke no more of it. 

A while later, Fili broke the silence. “Seeing as this rescue attempt is going so well,” he tried to smile, but it turned into a wince. “Now what? Other than ensuring Azog does not realize he has captured two heirs to two different kingdoms?”

“Now,” Legolas said. “We wait and see if our families change course given my capture, or we wait and see if the orcs give us an opportunity to escape.”

Fili nodded, something darkening in his gaze. “I hope you know, that if given the chance, I am saving my uncle over myself.” Legolas reeled to look at the dwarf at his side. “He is my uncle, he is the closest thing I have to a father, and our people need their King.”

“As do they need their prince.”

Fili smiled ruefully and shook his head. “They have Kili.”

“Well,” Legolas turned from the dwarf and focused his gaze on the hall, to listen for anyone approaching. He thought he heard light footsteps, much too small for an orc, but saw nothing and thus pushed the thought aside. “I need you alive so that your uncle does not blame me for your death, so we shall all do what we can to ensure our freedom.”

“You are confident, Master Elf,” Fili said.

“And you are self-sacrificing, Master Dwarf,” Legolas said. “We might just need both traits to survive this.” 

Unbeknownst to neither Fili nor Legolas, hobbit-sized footprints scurried out of the room, down the hall, and out of Ravenhill, the hobbit himself invisible, and unseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to send feedback about my previous question regarding ships as you continue to read, I still would appreciate more input if anyone cares to share. 
> 
> Also, I tried to find information about how Elvish healing works, and found very little. If anyone has any recommendations or feedback on how to improve the scene when Legolas heals Fili so as to make it more accurate, please let me know. Thanks again! 
> 
> Next Chapters: Bilbo returns to the Company and tells them of Legolas' capture and Fili's state, leaving Thorin and Thranduil unexpectedly becoming allies to save their respective heirs.


	6. An unexpected alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo returns to the Company and tells them of Legolas' capture and Fili's state, leaving Thorin and Thranduil unexpectedly becoming allies to save their respective heirs.

The Battle of Ravenhill  
Chapter Six

Eventually Balin and some of Thranduil’s advisers (Thorin had scoffed that he even had any) talked them into a respite for the time being, as there was still a cease in battle outside and nothing was going to be done with their forces exhausted and wounded. Bard offered aid where he could, but it was obvious that the people of Lake Town were at the end of their patience and skill level, save for the occasional healer or steady handed human who did what they could. 

Thorin tried to sleep but before the sun even rose he was up again, pacing, and found Dwalin, Balin, Bofur, and Oin to be in much the similar situation. They were huddled together and speaking in hushed tones, and as soon as Thorin pushed aside the tent flap the murmurs ceased.  
“What is it?” he asked. 

A hesitant glance was exchanged, before Balin spoke. “No one has seen Kili since the last meeting adjured.”

A furrow appeared in Thorin’s brow, “I am sure he is safe, and merely needed some time alone,” however the upturn of his tone in hesitant question was spoken both for his sake as well as others, uncertain about what his sister-son would do when faced with his brother in such peril. 

“I’ll go look for the lad,” Bofur offered, and after a gracious nod from Thorin he dashed towards the tent opening, yet skidded to a stop upon nearly colliding headfirst into their burglar, who had approached silently and swiftly, his breath coming out in sudden gasps as if he had been running a great distance. 

Thorin’s eyes widened, “Bilbo!” All it took was one sheepish, anxious glance from their hobbit for it to feel as if lightning was running through the king’s veins as opposed to blood, “I told you not to go on your own!”

“Yes and I think you and I both know how well I listen to your orders, now, don’t we?” For the first time in what felt to be a while, Bilbo’s words were the cause of many a cracked grin between the group, and Thorin could only shake his head in mild exasperation. Bilbo took a deep breath and was ushered further into the tent.  
“I found them, they’re deep in Ravenhill, no windows—one entrance in and out, multiple guards at the doorway.Thorin, there’s no way Fili is walking out of there by himself. He is quite injured, nothing immediately life threatening I think but he is badly hurt, likely a broken knee and incapable of wielding a weapon in one hand. Orcs crawl through the place, and only Bolg and Azog have the keys. Fili is shackled to the wall, but I do not think they intend to kill the lad. I believe the orcs intend to carry out their trade just as spoken. If they wanted to kill Fili, they could have.”

As Bilbo spoke, no one may as well have been breathing, as the quiet settled over them like a blanket. Even the wind outside ceased, and Thorin’s gut churned. He had been apprehensive to take his sister-sons with him on this quest, and now it was even clearer to him that it had been a mistake. They need not prove themselves to him, anymore. Fili and Kili always had been brave and honorable, albeit young, which was no fault of their own. 

“Lad,” Dwalin said, hands clenching and unclenching as if yearning to reach for a weapon. “You keep saying they. Who you talking about?”

Bilbo visibly paled. “Ah, yes. Erm. Well. It sounded as if…” Bilbo trailed off, sniffling, and fingers dancing in nerves. “I believe Kili asked the elf woman who healed him to go searching for Fili, but Legolas, Thranduil’s heir, went instead. He was captured as well, and he and Fili are prisoners together.”

Thorin knew not what to ask first, but the general uproar of the miniature company behind him was an adept description, however, a snag tugged at the back of his mind, “Healed Kili from the arrow wound? Was it that grave?” Had he been so blinded by his search for Erebor that he had not noticed?”

Bofur cleared his throat, “Sire-“

“Thorin,” the king corrected.

“Yes, Thorin,” Bofur said. “It was. If the elf had not shown up to heal Kili, and had she and Legolas not helped us with the orcs who invaded Bard’s house, I doubt we would be here.”

“I thought you said you could handle it,” Thorin said to Oin. 

Oin leaned forward, gesturing to his ear-trumpet and Thorin repeated the question more loudly. 

“I had not realized the wound to be poisoned!” 

The floor might as well have fallen beneath Thorin. Mahal—his sister-son was poisoned, and he had not even noticed. 

“But that is not what is important right now. Kili is safe,” Bofur said gently, nudging Thorin with a steady hand on his shoulder, “Now we must strategize a way to save Fili, who likely cannot walk on his own—and now the elven heir, too. Reckon we should draw straws for who tells the pointy eared elf lord of his son’s predicament?”  
“I shall do it,” Thorin said without hesitation, and he did not miss the way some of those present seemed to deflate. “Bilbo, come with me, if you please. Thranduil will likely trust you more, and will want your firsthand account of what you saw.” 

By the time Thorin and Bilbo reached the tent where the elven lord was residing, the sun was beginning to creep up over the hills of Dale in early morning, bathing the battlefield in a golden hue, a mockery of beauty to veil the bloodshed, and Thorin’s mind whirled in worry. 

“I am glad you are alright,” Thorin said lowly, standing outside of Thranduil’s tent, one hand raised to brush it aside. Bilbo stopped, opened his mouth as if he might say something, closed it, and nodded. “Are you wearing the Mithril I gave you?”

Wordlessly, Bilbo flipped his collar over to reveal a sliver of the white-silver shirt beneath, and Thorin’s returning look was a brief flicker of acceptance before he entered the tent without another word. 

“Thranduil, we must speak with you in private,” Thorin said by means of greeting, casting a level glance at the various other elves around the king.

Thranduil did not look up from the parchments he was glancing over, talking in hushed tongues Thorin did not understand. “Whatever you have to say to me about your charge’s predicament may wait, or are we not in a brief respite so that I may oversee the care of my wounded?”

Thorin glowered, one hand clenching into a fist at his side, and Bilbo stepped between the two. “It concerns your son. Legolas has been captured by Azog.”

Soundlessly, Thranduil lifted his head and pierced Bilbo with an icy look, and Thorin had to resist the urge to step between the hobbit and the elf lord. Bilbo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, pushing himself to stand up straighter. Then Thranduil was ordering those nearby in the same elvish which Thorin was unfamiliar with, yet Bilbo leaned closer and translated.

“He is asking the guards to find Tauriel, assuming she has something to do with this.”

“Since when do you speak Elvish?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo shrugged, “Erm-“

There was a flurry of activity as most but not all of the elves within the tent were dismissed, save for two guards posted at the entrance and Thranduil, who had sat up in his seat as if it were his throne, and was staring at Bilbo and Thorin as if willing them to continue. “I saw him,” Bilbo said. “I snuck into Ravenhill to check on Fili, and saw them capture Legolas. He is unharmed, but they have numerous guards posted on them both.”

“How do I know this is not simply a ploy to get my soldiers to fight more of your battles for you, Oakenshield?”

Thorin bristled, “Do you claim that we would keep your son prisoner? Your heir? While mine is missing? Do you think so lowly of us?”

“I have been given very little proof of late when it comes to your honor,” Thranduil said, something in his expression that of steel, and Bilbo lifted what he hoped to be a calming hand as the king continued. “What use would Azog have for my son other than as a bargaining chip? His quarrel is not with my people.”

“Azog does not know who Legolas is,” Bilbo said. “I believe he intends to use Legolas as a means of keeping Fili in line until he can give Fili back to us in exchange for Thorin.” 

Thranduil let out a laugh devoid of amusement, “Your kin,” he spat the word in Thorin’s direction, “Would never suffer for mine, your faith in that child is misplaced.”

It took everything in Thorin not to lash out, not to give in to the anger licking at the edges of his consciousness, a different anger than that clad in gold and sickness, but the heavy, heated anger was there and it was itching for a chance to be unleashed. “Fili will be a better King than I, far greater and more patient, but not if he is dead!” His voice cracked, and for once, and perhaps never again, he saw a similar emotion reflected in Thranduil’s gaze, albeit more caged, and Thorin’s stomach dropped. “I will do everything to save them,” that was never a question, but his next words came out slowly, like honey, sluggish. It almost took more will to force out those words than it took to remove his father’s crown. “And I need you with me.” 

Slowly, Thranduil stood, and Thorin tensed. “Fine, Oakenshield,” the elf king strapped a blade around his middle, and strode silently past them and out of the tent, his hollow, angry—not at them, but at their enemy—voice hollering over his shoulder, “But I am not doing this for you.”

Bilbo released a breath at the same time as Thorin, one he had not realized he had been holding. He smiled at Bilbo and let out a chuckle, “That is all I ask.”

This was not how Thorin wished to mend the relationship with elves, a mere few days ago he would have balked at the notion. But if perhaps something as gentle and kind as a chance could come out of such sorrow, then Thorin would accept it. It was what his sister-sons would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, for the kudos as well as comments, and mostly for your patience as it has taken me longer than anticipated to update this fic! For transparency sake--my posting will likely get slower, but know that I will not be abandoning this fic. I have been traveling lately, and am about to start my Master's, but have most of this fic planned out so despite those other priorities I intend to complete this. Thank you all again, I appreciate your feedback more than I can express here.
> 
> Next chapter: As it is the day that Fili will be exchanged for Thorin, Fili and Legolas begin making a plan to try and escape before the trade can take place. The plan's execution, however, derails slightly.


End file.
